These Endless Days, 9/?
When Morgan returns, the rest of the team are still holed up in the conference room. He can sense the tension in the air; that’s part profiler skills, part werewolf. They stare at him as he walks in.
‘What’s going on?’ Garcia demands, zipping down to land on his shoulder. ‘Where is she?’
He shares a look with JJ, who, judging by the look on her face, has already read his mind.
‘She’s exactly where we thought she was,’ he says shortly, sitting back down at the conference table.
‘Why would she be there?’ Reid asks, frowning. ‘It doesn’t make any sense.’
‘She wouldn’t tell me,’ Morgan says, trying not to let the frustration show. ‘I went there, they let me in, we talked, and then she told me to leave. She said she couldn’t tell me why she was there.’
JJ raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t contradict his version of events. He’s really got to learn how to shield his thoughts.
‘So what do we have?’ he asks, with something approaching resignation. Hotch isn’t the kind of person to say “I told you so” but he doesn’t say anything else, either. Morgan can bet that the gears of his mind are churning.
‘We’ve been looking through any connection the victims might have,’ Rossi tells him. ‘With this many locations, we need to narrow down our locations of interest.’
‘I thought we’d decided that this was the work of Anath’s Circle,’ Morgan says, frowning. He flips open the file in front of him.
‘That’s just an assumption,’ Reid says, matter-of-factly. ‘We can’t pursue that line of investigation without further evidence as to their involvement.’
‘What are we gonna do, wait until they send us a signed invitation?’ Morgan demands. ‘Whoever is a part of this group, they’re responsible for countless crimes against humanity.’
‘It’s not our job to make moral judgments,’ Hotch says evenly. ‘If they are not directly involved in this case, then we will be infringing on the task force whose duty it is to investigate such groups.’
There’s an awkward sort of silence, which only highlights the cracks that have reverberated through the team over the past few months. Once upon a time, they might have been considered family.
Now...
Well, now they have other things to worry about.
Reluctantly, he relents.
The whiteboard is covered with photos and notes in red marker, faces and names that have next to no meaning.
Somehow, it’s all connected.
...
The best time to kill a vampire is during the day.
A good proportion of vampires - even the older ones, who could withstand the sunlight - spend their daylight hours sleeping. Emily counts herself among the few exceptions, but that has nothing to do with her age.
It’s almost dawn, and Emily has been pacing for what feels like an eternity, but in the scheme of things, it’s only a millionth of a percent of her life so far. From what she can remember, her mother usually spends the night feeding, which is both a blessing and a curse.
A blessing, because it means the matriarch vampire will be in a state of altered consciousness. Effectively high on blood. A curse, because it means she will be that much stronger should things go wrong.
Emily grips the stake tightly, ignoring the tingling sensation that shoots up her arm. There are two spell bands in the bag, which she wraps tightly around her wrist. She won’t activate them until she needs to. Between them, and the stake, it should be enough to kill her mother, and anyone that gets in the way.
Maybe, if she’s lucky, she’ll survive it.
In spite of the hour, the house is still brightly lit. It’s been a long time since she’s lived in an all-vampire residence, and she’s not entirely sure what to expect. Perhaps there will there be people out wandering the halls. Maybe they’ll be confined to their quarters, engaging in the kinds of things she doesn’t really want to think about.
The house is deadly silent, and maybe that should be her first clue that something is amiss, but the goal in sight has all but consumed her. As though she’s been brainwashed.
Emily creeps down the hallway, ready to activate the spell bands on her wrist. She’s not even sure if they’ll work in this place, but there the best chance she has.
The room at the end of the hallway beckons to her, its ornate door pulsing with an entirely different kind of magic. There’s a strange beauty to it that Emily can’t quite describe. She wants to loathe every part of this place with every fiber of her being.
The sound of movement pulls her from her reverie, and she activates the spell band with a single swipe of the finger. A fireball shoots from her fingertips, its blast radius far wider than Emily had expected. She drops backwards, coughing, and trying to ignore the searing pain in her arm.
There’s a pile of ash on the ground, from the enforcer that had wandered across her path. She’s not even sure which one it had been, but it doesn’t seem to matter anymore. Now that she’s blown her cover, there isn’t much time.
Her kick doesn’t splinter the door like it should. The only thing it does is hurt like hell. Frustrated, and running out of options, Emily puts her hand to the door. She can feel that magic now. It shockwaves, and the door swings open.
The room feels so strange, and yet so familiar, as though Emily’s been here before. A memory flashes before her eyes, from so many hundreds of years ago. There’s a young girl - she’s smiling. Her hair is in pigtails.
She’s never seen the sunlight.
She doesn’t know it yet, but she isn’t like all the other girls. That’s mostly because she’s never met all the other girls. The only life she knows is here, in this castle. She loves her mother, but that won’t last.
They share the same blood, and the same dark, forbidding eyes, but they are from two different worlds.
For a brief second, she hesitates, but it doesn’t last.
Her moth-No...Lilith-is on the bed. Her eyes are closed, but fluttering. The curtains are drawn shut.
Emily steps forward, as softly as she can manage. Her fingers clutch the stake. She doesn’t hesitate.
She thrusts the stake down towards Lilith’s chest.
A hand shoots upwards and grabs it. Dark eyes flash open.
‘Oh, Emily,’ her mother whispers. ‘You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?’
‘What’s going on?’ Garcia demands, zipping down to land on his shoulder. ‘Where is she?’
He shares a look with JJ, who, judging by the look on her face, has already read his mind.
‘She’s exactly where we thought she was,’ he says shortly, sitting back down at the conference table.
‘Why would she be there?’ Reid asks, frowning. ‘It doesn’t make any sense.’
‘She wouldn’t tell me,’ Morgan says, trying not to let the frustration show. ‘I went there, they let me in, we talked, and then she told me to leave. She said she couldn’t tell me why she was there.’
JJ raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t contradict his version of events. He’s really got to learn how to shield his thoughts.
‘So what do we have?’ he asks, with something approaching resignation. Hotch isn’t the kind of person to say “I told you so” but he doesn’t say anything else, either. Morgan can bet that the gears of his mind are churning.
‘We’ve been looking through any connection the victims might have,’ Rossi tells him. ‘With this many locations, we need to narrow down our locations of interest.’
‘I thought we’d decided that this was the work of Anath’s Circle,’ Morgan says, frowning. He flips open the file in front of him.
‘That’s just an assumption,’ Reid says, matter-of-factly. ‘We can’t pursue that line of investigation without further evidence as to their involvement.’
‘What are we gonna do, wait until they send us a signed invitation?’ Morgan demands. ‘Whoever is a part of this group, they’re responsible for countless crimes against humanity.’
‘It’s not our job to make moral judgments,’ Hotch says evenly. ‘If they are not directly involved in this case, then we will be infringing on the task force whose duty it is to investigate such groups.’
There’s an awkward sort of silence, which only highlights the cracks that have reverberated through the team over the past few months. Once upon a time, they might have been considered family.
Now...
Well, now they have other things to worry about.
Reluctantly, he relents.
The whiteboard is covered with photos and notes in red marker, faces and names that have next to no meaning.
Somehow, it’s all connected.
...
The best time to kill a vampire is during the day.
A good proportion of vampires - even the older ones, who could withstand the sunlight - spend their daylight hours sleeping. Emily counts herself among the few exceptions, but that has nothing to do with her age.
It’s almost dawn, and Emily has been pacing for what feels like an eternity, but in the scheme of things, it’s only a millionth of a percent of her life so far. From what she can remember, her mother usually spends the night feeding, which is both a blessing and a curse.
A blessing, because it means the matriarch vampire will be in a state of altered consciousness. Effectively high on blood. A curse, because it means she will be that much stronger should things go wrong.
Emily grips the stake tightly, ignoring the tingling sensation that shoots up her arm. There are two spell bands in the bag, which she wraps tightly around her wrist. She won’t activate them until she needs to. Between them, and the stake, it should be enough to kill her mother, and anyone that gets in the way.
Maybe, if she’s lucky, she’ll survive it.
In spite of the hour, the house is still brightly lit. It’s been a long time since she’s lived in an all-vampire residence, and she’s not entirely sure what to expect. Perhaps there will there be people out wandering the halls. Maybe they’ll be confined to their quarters, engaging in the kinds of things she doesn’t really want to think about.
The house is deadly silent, and maybe that should be her first clue that something is amiss, but the goal in sight has all but consumed her. As though she’s been brainwashed.
Emily creeps down the hallway, ready to activate the spell bands on her wrist. She’s not even sure if they’ll work in this place, but there the best chance she has.
The room at the end of the hallway beckons to her, its ornate door pulsing with an entirely different kind of magic. There’s a strange beauty to it that Emily can’t quite describe. She wants to loathe every part of this place with every fiber of her being.
The sound of movement pulls her from her reverie, and she activates the spell band with a single swipe of the finger. A fireball shoots from her fingertips, its blast radius far wider than Emily had expected. She drops backwards, coughing, and trying to ignore the searing pain in her arm.
There’s a pile of ash on the ground, from the enforcer that had wandered across her path. She’s not even sure which one it had been, but it doesn’t seem to matter anymore. Now that she’s blown her cover, there isn’t much time.
Her kick doesn’t splinter the door like it should. The only thing it does is hurt like hell. Frustrated, and running out of options, Emily puts her hand to the door. She can feel that magic now. It shockwaves, and the door swings open.
The room feels so strange, and yet so familiar, as though Emily’s been here before. A memory flashes before her eyes, from so many hundreds of years ago. There’s a young girl - she’s smiling. Her hair is in pigtails.
She’s never seen the sunlight.
She doesn’t know it yet, but she isn’t like all the other girls. That’s mostly because she’s never met all the other girls. The only life she knows is here, in this castle. She loves her mother, but that won’t last.
They share the same blood, and the same dark, forbidding eyes, but they are from two different worlds.
For a brief second, she hesitates, but it doesn’t last.
Her moth-No...Lilith-is on the bed. Her eyes are closed, but fluttering. The curtains are drawn shut.
Emily steps forward, as softly as she can manage. Her fingers clutch the stake. She doesn’t hesitate.
She thrusts the stake down towards Lilith’s chest.
A hand shoots upwards and grabs it. Dark eyes flash open.
‘Oh, Emily,’ her mother whispers. ‘You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?’